What Changed While You Weren’t Looking
by Utenakun
Summary: One player breaks the anonymity of The World and finally tips his hand. Rekicentric, 1s.


**Title:** What Changed While You Weren't Looking  
**Author:** Utenakun  
**Series:** .hack/DUSK  
**Summary:** "Why are you doing this?" he was asked again and again. What he never said was that the real answer stretched back beyond the legends of Balmung and Fianna to the very origins of The World.  
**Rating:** G  
**Disclaimer:** I have no affiliation with the writers, producers, or directors of .hack …or with _anyone_ at Bandai. So please, no litigation, much obliged, thx.

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When I was five years old, my eyes began to degenerate. That is the correct term; macular degeneration. It shouldn't happen to a child, of course, but a disease will not listen to terms like 'unprecedented' or 'never heard of it happening so young before.'

My father sat me down and explained it so I could understand. "Your eyes are becoming bad, Eiji. There's nothing we can do about it. But you're very lucky, because we have enough money to pay for an experimental treatment that will give you back your sight. Understand, Eiji? This is only temporary. You will be able to see again." My eyes were already quite weak, so while he spoke I concentrated on the tone of his voice and tried to guess how serious this truly was. But he always sounded so stern; I missed the true grimness in what he was saying. And I could not see my mother's tears.

He was not lying, really; I am still young, only a few years out of college, and the technology that had been in its earliest development then is now maturing very quickly. But at present there is only one way I can see: by logging onto The World. Like everyone else, the goggles pulse directly into my brain, bypassing my faulty eyes. I make a _very_ good administrator, always reluctant to leave, always eager to do that last bit of work. Why shouldn't I? Who would call all-encompassing darkness any sort of home worth going back to?

In a very real sense, The World is my home. Since I was five years old I have been playing it. At first, it was the pet project of a few dedicated programmers who were willing to let me try out experimental sight with it; then they began to realize that I was a perfect tester, almost exactly their target audience, and let me play even more. In those days—well, The World was _nothing_ like it is now. Environmental design was so far ahead of AI, monster and NPC creation—you could wander for days, or what felt like days, without seeing another person.

But then, it wasn't so far ahead that the scenery resembled The World as you've seen it. At first there was just a long hallway, my footsteps echoing as I walked down it, with patches of color and pictures of my family up on the walls. Later there was a wide, grassy meadow that was programmed to simulate not only a walk but also the disorganized, rapidly shifting viewpoint of a young boy running, throwing himself down on the grass and rolling, laughing in delight. I remember one old volcano environment that included a thin rock bridge I perched on while shivering at the lava bubbling menacingly below me. It was only a game, but in it I could see a tree, hear its branches rustle, and come to a solid stop when I tried to walk through it—memory, more often than not by then, let me slide right through the physical world I dimly pictured.

One day, at the urging of several programmers, I went to one of my favorite environments at the banks of a wide river. The sun was fairly low in the sky, hanging at mid-afternoon height and sending sparkling trails across the water. Trees lined the riverbank, but there was a strip of grass there that I always loved to run on, and today, I suddenly realized that it felt _strange_, rushing almost—the feel of wind!

I must've jumped; I cried out and pulled off the goggles, plunged into a commotion of laughter, crows of success and congratulation as one kind man I knew only by voice patted me on the shoulder: "How's that, eh? Not bad, not bad, now we can actually make you _feel_ something in there! Glad we could get it ready in time for your birthday, Eiji-kun!" That was my ninth birthday.

When the first version of The World was finally released as an MMORPG, my father bought me a copy and I played at home—though not as much as I had before, since by now I was expected to study hard and qualify for a good school, irregardless of my eyes.

I had become a fairly proficient Wavemaster by the time I finally ventured into one of the dungeons. I had peered in once, and instantly disliked the dim atmosphere and flickering torches. But as I became invested in The World once more, I wanted to boost my stats and gain some rare items.

That was an ice dungeon; the walls glowed a very faint pale blue, which I preferred to dark, damp stone. I kept trailing the fingertips of one hand along the walls, pulling my hand back to brush almost disbelievingly over the moisture I gathered.

Then I heard the screeching call of a monster and my heart leapt—someone was fighting in the next room. I ran in, waving my staff before me and stopping in amazement at the scene.

That was one of the monster designs they later retired, a fearsome creature with more than twenty tentacles and a head set right in the center. While it walked and fought with some of its limbs, the others waved in the air like Medusa's hair. In the center of its head were no features except a large, radial mouth, teeth spiraling neatly down inside.

They were very tough to kill, which was likely why they disappeared from later versions of The World. The arms all around it helped deflect attacks, especially ones from the air—anything from flying boulders to lightning. They were weak to fire, but not _that_ weak. I had seen some in the past, and found that a good speed charm was my only protection against being killed.

But this man, a Heavy Blade, was untouchable. It ought to be even harder to fight one of those with a sword than with magic—one blade against two dozen enormous arms? Still, he ducked and weaved expertly, and every hit counted. He laughed at its efforts to wound him, chivvied it on to greater efforts (though who knows if it could process his taunts or was just programmed to become more savage as the battle went on) and shouted in exuberance. He even severed six or seven tentacles—the beast screamed every time—before lunging in and stabbing it right in its mouth. As the monsters did back then when killed, it gave a last scream and melted into a fetid puddle on the floor.

Of course I knew who it was. He was famous—he had been one of the very first players (of the public game, anyway) and his level was rumored to be ridiculously higher than any other player's. And anyway, who could mistake a Heavy Blade with two enormous angel wings sprouting from his armor, wings he supposedly spread and flew with when fighting the worst monsters?

Fianna sheathed his sword and grinned back at me while I merely stared. I thought I knew that voice… but that was the only time I ever saw him in person, and I did not ask. Several months later, I heard Fianna had pushed his Heavy Blade level so high, they had actually presented him with a new status named Blademaster.

Years later, I had become a pretty solid presence in The World, particularly on the BBS boards where newbies often asked veterans for help. Once I heard that Balmung had been hired by CC Corp, I realized that I could turn all my experience into extra money while I waited for the miraculous sight that would let me take a real-world job. I applied and was hired, partially on the basis of my online reputation. They were taken aback when I told them I wanted my administrator identity to be entirely separate—one objection was that I would have no reputation that the players might be inclined to obey me for—but I reminded them that changing my handle didn't mean I would forget all my experience and knowledge of how The World works. Besides, as I told them, I wasn't interested in policing The World. Why don't you partner me with someone who _does_ do that sort of thing, I suggested, and let me take care of the paperwork, the arrangements, the nuts-and-bolts of the administrator job. Someone else can do the flashy stuff.

Naturally, that someone else was the flashiest of them all, Balmung. We've worked together for a few years now, and he's never gotten any less flighty or let go of his childish sense of showmanship. But we're a good team, and I'm sure he doesn't guess why, what with all the whining and clerical objections I throw at him. It's because, in our own ways, we both believe CC Corp is wrong. Balmung may not have been born here, but he loves this world, where he can be dashing and heroic and gain honest admiration, not sneers and pointed admonishments to 'act his age.' And I have been here since I was five—how could The World be anything but my world, my home? How could either of us emulate CC Corp and rate it just a game, secondary to the profits we make from players?

I see him crumbling a little day by day, buried under the weight of corporate bureaucracy and the even more damaging slow realization that he works for those who take no care, no pride, no joy in this world. It is so frustrating to see Balmung of the Azure Sky, descendant of Fianna, disintegrating by small degrees in the grip of business.

But not so hopeless, for the cure is simple, and he needs not understand it any better than I did.


End file.
